That Room
by amaterahelios
Summary: The whole house was full of horrible memories for the child, but there was only one room which painfully embodied all the nightmarish fears and all the miserable memories of this young, broken and angry existence.


**That Room**

Going back home is always difficult. I don't want to think about the why of it being so, as I already know what causes me to feel like this every time. It's such an irritating feeling. I have to step inside and close the door behind me despite that. It makes me feel vulnerable so I try to ignore it, although it's obviously not so easy. I wish I have someone to talk to about this sometimes but that would also make me feel vulnerable and I hate everyone in this village anyway. There is nobody I can trust. If I do, I know I'd regret it later.

Voices are coming from within the old, rickety room to my left. It's the bedroom. I feel a sudden rush of panic overtake me. The voices sound menacing. They are voices of people I don't know. I stand by the door, completely motionless with fear. What should I do? It really does not sound just like Father and Mother in there. Father's voice alone is already scary on its own but somehow these strange voices feel scarier still. Is he having friends over? But Father should not have friends. Is he beating Mother again? But that still doesn't explain why I can hear so many voices inside. They are loud voices, even louder than how loud Father usually is when he is beating either Mother or me.

I inch closer to the room. It's closed, but I can still hear the voices inside clearly enough. They are voices of men. I start to grow more and more frightened and even a bit angry. Men are dangerous, especially adult ones. They do bad things to hurt you that you never ever forget in your life. In the streets it is common for men to hit me, to call me names and to humiliate me, just as Father does to me so often. Everyday. Father is a man. I hate men, They only hurt others. Will I also grow up as a man simply existing to hurt others?

The voices grow only louder. They, whoever is inside, sound like they are laughing, like they are having fun. How can people be having fun with Father? He is mean, cruel and vain. He talks only of not having money, of wanting more alcohol, of wanting to be rid of Mother and me. He likes to talk a lot about how he wishes I was never born as well. It doesn't even hurt that much anymore to remember his words. I'm just so angry all the time at him and at everyone, and I know I will hate him forever for it. That's why I can't understand what is going on inside that room still.

I press my ear against the door and try to listen in better. The voices which sounded louder and more menacing earlier, are now not that much so anymore. I can barely hear them anymore. The men are still making noises inside the room however. I can't understand what's happening in there. The door doesn't have a hole through which I can peek inside, so I can only try to strain my ear to pick up any words the men inside may be saying. I can easily make out Father's voice. It's impossible ever not to in this tiny shack.

There are some strange sounds coming from inside the room now. Before now I could only make out some whispered conversation and laughter which made me believe they were playing cards at the table or something, but I feel different now. For some reason I almost feel nauseous because I can no longer hear voices, but instead what sound to me as less human like sounds. Sighs, groans, and words I only ever hear Father utter. They are all unpleasant to hear and I start to feel sick.

What terrifies me is something else however. It is the sound of a woman's gasp, a woman's cry of pain, a woman's silent sobbing. It's Mother. They, whoever is inside that room, is doing things to Mother. Bad things, things I see men doing to undignified women on the streets are being done to Mother. I somehow feel certain of that.

Am I right? I must make sure. A terrifying feeling is starting to crawl up into my chest. It just erupts into me from a sudden thought, a realization of some kind. It feels bad and painful. I can't understand it. Before I can stop myself, I decide to run outside and around the house. There is a window looking into that room. I can see from that window. I can learn the truth, although the certainty of it, of what is going on in that hateful room, has already latched onto my heart, like a cold, dead hand.

I run towards the window. If I stand on my tiptoes I will be able to reach high enough to see through. When I look inside I can't say I am surprised. Still, I can feel tears of anger start pouring out of my eyes. They feel so sticky and itchy. I just have to rub them, they're giving me a headache. I can't even stop myself from sniffling now, and I can't stop myself from looking.

There she is, my good mother. Naked, bruised, hurt. Broken like a cheap china doll on the bed, with men all around her. Snickering, pushing at her, entering her. Looking like animals. None of them is the true beast however. The real beast is sitting in a half broken chair, drinking booze and stowing away, with a huge grin plastered all over his ugly face, a large amount of money into a bag which isn't difficult, even for me, to understand where it's coming from. The money he just made out of desecrating Mother and all her talk of holiness and heaven.

I feel mad, I feel so full of rage, but I cannot do anything. I'm just a child. I run away from the window and down the road into the woods. I can only think of killing Father.


End file.
